Her Last Case
by Firebird9
Summary: Jack is leaving, and Phryne is determined not to be left behind. A bittersweet little fic.


**Her Last Case**

By Firebird 9

Rating: T

* * *

He had never thought that he would be the one to leave her. She had promised him forever once, long ago, but still, he had always thought that one way or another he would be the one left behind. Yet it seemed that life had other plans. He hated to leave her; he could only imagine the sorrow it would cause her. She had known so much sorrow in her life, so much pain, before he had met her and loved her and proven to her that love, true love, was a blessing and not a curse. She would be so sad when he was gone but he didn't see how he could stay. Not now.

As though she had read his thoughts, he felt Phryne squeeze his hand, and forced his eyes open to look at her. Tired. He was so tired.

It still surprised him every time he saw her snowy white hair and the lines that life and love had left upon her face. In his mind's eye she was still the raven-haired society beauty to whom he had given his heart way back in 1928. But that was years ago now, back in those wild, heady days when she had first come bursting into his life and reminded him that he was still young. He had not felt young then, but old, battered and bowed by war and circumstance. Meeting her had been like drinking a draft from the fountain of youth, and even now it still came as a shock to feel the weight of the years pressing down upon him.

Her eyes met his, and she smiled gently and stroked his brow.

"It's alright, Jack," she whispered tenderly, tears in her beautiful eyes. "You don't have to hold on for me, love. It's alright to let go."

He fought for a deeper breath, one that would allow him to speak. "Love you so much," he managed. "Don't want to leave you."

"I'll follow you, Jack. Wherever you go, I'll follow you, and I'll find you." A smile touched her lips, an echo of the cocky grin that had always made his heart skip a beat with its promise of danger and mischief. "Because I'm Phryne Fisher, Lady Detective."

Oh, how her words brought it all back: all those mad, long-ago days when he had resisted, and she had insisted, until she had made her way firmly into his career, and his life, and finally into his heart, and he had fallen in love with her and, more remarkably, she had fallen in love with him. The excitement of it all, the thrill of the chase, the rush of adrenaline when their blood was up and the puzzle was solved and the suspect finally within their sights. The sudden spikes of fear, for her life, or his sanity, or both. The frantic days of crime-solving, the long nights of talk, and whisky, and passionate love-making. Fine dresses and hats, tailored suits and furs – clothing these days just wasn't the same – open-topped motor-cars, jazz clubs and ball-rooms, pistols and daggers, dinners and dancing, French champagne and French perfume, and always, always his beloved Phryne.

He didn't want to go, but he couldn't remain forever in this no-man's land between life and death. She was his life and she would follow him, and if anyone could find another person in whatever lay beyond this world it was her.

"Love you," he whispered again, and she bent over him and pressed her lips to his in one long last kiss. With a sigh, with her brow still resting against his, he finally let go.

...

Phryne leaned her forehead against Jack's and felt the life go out of him at last. She had known for days that this moment was near, and that it was for the best, but still she couldn't stop the tears that flowed almost silently from beneath her eyelids to run down onto his dear, familiar face.

After a few minutes she drew a deep breath and composed herself. He would hate to see her cry, and she had promises to keep. She had promised him forever, and that she would follow him, and she had every intention of doing exactly that. Which was why, when she had realised the end was near, she had deliberately stopped taking all the various pills and potions that her doctor had prescribed her, using only painkillers and whisky to alleviate the inevitable sufferings of old age. Jack had not known just how sick she was, and would not have countenanced her chosen course of action if he had, but it wasn't suicide, not really. She had been reckless once, but that was long ago, before she understood that there was more at stake than just her own life. So it was not suicide that she intended, but merely to let nature take its course.

Slowly, painfully, she made her way around to her side of the bed, the bed they had shared for so many years, the bed in which they had frolicked in ways that, even now, could bring the ghost of a salacious smile to her lips. Slowly she laid herself down beside the now-lifeless body of the only man she had ever loved and wrapped her arms around him. Tired. She was so tired.

With a sigh, she nestled into him as she had done so many times before, knowing that this time there would be no answering embrace, no strong, loving arms to hold her. She closed her eyes and breathed in the fading scent of his skin. Then, with no regrets over a life lived fully and passionately to the hilt, Phryne Fisher, Lady Detective, commenced her last case, and followed on the trail of her beloved Jack.


End file.
